


Latour Corton Charlemagne, 2015

by stratumgermanitivum



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dom/sub, Human Furniture, M/M, PWP, Ridiculous Sex Toys, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sub Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 05:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18958978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: Will has been folded over the arm of the couch for half an hour now, palms pressed to the hardwood floor.





	Latour Corton Charlemagne, 2015

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justlikeyouimagined](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeyouimagined/gifts), [Emergencytrap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emergencytrap/gifts).



> Based on [this](https://twitter.com/teacupsmasher/status/1124933095231123456) silly and NSFW tweet, and [justlikeyouimagined's](https://archiveofourown.org/user/justlikeyouimagined) comment that it was perfect for human furniture fic.

Will has been folded over the arm of the couch for half an hour now, palms pressed to the hardwood floor. One leg folded underneath him, to prop his ass higher and keep steady, the other flat on the floor, leaving room for Hannibal. There are no ropes to keep him in place, nothing but Hannibal’s orders and his own heady desire. Will is hard against the couch, has been since Hannibal slid the plug into place and proceeded to ignore him. He’s lightheaded with it. Or maybe that’s just all the blood rushing to his head. He shifts, lifting his head a bit to try and relieve the pressure of the position. A heavy hand comes down against his ass with a crack. Will has to bite back a squeak, arms trembling with the effort to be still.

Hannibal’s instructions had been simple, and firm. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Don’t spill a single drop.

If asked, Will would claim human furniture was more Hannibal’s kink than his own. Will prefers service in the traditional sense, obedience that makes him feel useful to his partner.

“But you _would_ be useful,” Hannibal had whispered in his ear, “And you _would_ be obedient.” It would have been hot as hell if Will hadn’t still been snickering at the toy Hannibal had presented him with.

Smooth, unyielding glass, thick and long enough to be a challenge, it was exactly what Will loved in a plug, right up until the base turned into a goddamn _wine glass_.

“You know there’s not a lot of positions that will make that any use to you,” Will had teased. Hannibal had smiled his sharp-fanged grin and smacked Will lightly for his giggles.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

And Hannibal had. He always did. Will’s arms are starting to tremble with the strain, and he’s going cross-eyed from staring at the patterns on the fabric before him, and he still has so many minutes to go. Until the generous glass of Chardonnay has vanished. Until Hannibal gets _bored_ with his book and remembers he has far more interesting ways to spend his time.

Hannibal doesn’t make it easy for him, either. Normally when he asks for service like this, he binds Will tightly, so that his obedience is ensured. The lack of ropes is no doubt a punishment for Will’s laughter. The plug is exactly as filling as Will had imagined it to be, pressing deep inside him, stretching him open wide. Whenever Hannibal goes to take a sip, as he does now, he presses down on the stem, grinding the plug against Will’s prostate and forcing Will to hold his gasps inside.

Furniture doesn’t whimper and moan like a back-alley harlot, Will.

The plug slides out of him. Will feels each and every centimeter, over sensitized, shivering. He hears Hannibal turn a page in his book, and then slowly, so slowly, the plug spears into him again. He has no idea how much wine remains, and no way of checking. For all he knows, Hannibal has already finished, and is choosing to keep him on edge.

But if Will turns to check and spills the wine, Hannibal has promised to take each and every drop out on Will’s hide. As glorious as Hannibal is when he’s giving Will pain, the disappointment would crush Will’s heart in his chest. He stays still.

The minutes tick by. Will’s mind goes fuzzy, then entirely blank. The plug slides out and in again, the world’s slowest fucking. Will leaks spots of pre-come against the plush arm, spots he will scrub at later and never quite feel like he’s cleaned. His arms ache. His legs are cramping. He could call it, say the word that will have Hannibal wrapping him up in a blanket and holding him close. He is not going to call it. He has forgotten entirely that this is a game, that this is not just who he is, Hannibal’s end table, Hannibal’s pretty, sweet boy.

The plug slides out and grinds in again, too quick to be a proper sip. Will blinks hazily at the floor and doesn’t moan, though his breath catches. Again, and again, until Hannibal is properly fucking him with it, rough and quick and just a bit painful, the lube drying and tacky around Will’s rim. Will wants to moan and thrash and fuck himself back on it. He does not. Hannibal told him to be still and quiet. The world could end, right now, and Will would stay still and quiet.

But it’s so _hard_. The plug rubs up against all the right places, no give at all, just stretching Will wider and wider.

“Such a good boy, Will,” Hannibal whispers, close, so close to him. The plug slides out entirely, leaving Will gaping and open, and that, the sudden emptiness, _that_ draws a sound out of Will, a half-choked noise as he struggles to hold it back. Hannibal chuckles, and smacks him, once, twice, across his upturned ass. He spreads Will wide with his large hands, licking a stripe across Will’s entrance. Will doesn’t make another sound, he will _not_ , even as Hannibal licks into him, spears him with the point of his tongue, fills him and fills him and _oh-_

A dilemma, a horrified thought that had not occurred until now: Will is never, _ever_ to come without Hannibal’s permission. He can’t ask for permission. He’s going to come, he’s going to spill over Hannibal’s fancy couch, and there’s nothing he can do to beg permission or forgiveness, and Hannibal will be so disappointed-

Hannibal pulls back with a final kiss to Will’s rim, and Will’s tense body goes slack with the relief, very nearly wobbles. He barely manages to keep himself still. The floor beneath him is damp; Will does not remember when he began to cry.

Hannibal adjust him, pulling his hips back until Will is braced on his fingertips instead of his palms. It sends a screaming agony through his folded leg, long-since numb. Will bites his lip hard enough to taste blood, holding back the sound that begs to claw out from his chest. Hannibal drapes himself across his back, one hand folding around Will’s throat, hauling him up, tight enough that each breath is _earned_ instead of granted. Will’s arms tingle, his head is dizzy with the sudden change. Hannibal yanks Will back onto his cock, hard and hot and so different from the plug.

“Go ahead, Will,” Hannibal murmurs, nipping hard at the soft lobe of Will’s ear, “This is a reward. Enjoy it.”

Will _breaks_.

He drapes himself back against Hannibal’s chest, rolling his hips frantically, trying to get Hannibal to thrust up against that spot that sends sparks through him. One hand clutches desperately at Hannibal’s hair, the other joins the hand on his throat, just to feel the way Hannibal clenches and unclenches his grip.

“Please,” Will says, and it is more a whine than any true speech, frantic, desperate babbling, “Please, I’m so close, so close…”

“I know,” Hannibal says, his free hand wrapping around Will’s aching cock, “I know, you’ve been ready since the beginning, and you were still so good for me. Go ahead, Will, take what you need.”

Will grinds back onto Hannibal with a desperate, shuddering moan, again and again and again, until he is feverish with it. Until Hannibal’s hand twists on the upstroke and Will is coming, seed splashing against the arm of the couch and dripping down onto his thighs.

“Good boy,” Hannibal hisses, and there is something feral in it, something raw. He shoves Will forward, back over the arm of the couch, his hand sliding from Will’s throat to his hair. He holds Will in place, staring down at the wet droplets of tears on the floor as Hannibal fucks the screams out of him. Faster and harder and so much more than Will thinks he can bear, bruising over Will’s swollen prostate, grinding his sensitive cock into the wet spot Will has made. Will’s hands smack against the floor, scrabbling for purchase as Hannibal makes him cry again, grinds into him until his vision is blurry.

Hannibal comes with teeth against Will’s spine. He almost always gets his teeth in Will; Will’s body is littered with the bitemarks of Hannibal’s orgasms. Will is dripping everywhere, his cock, his ass, his face. His body and throat are both raw, and yet…

Hannibal hauls Will back up by the hair, clutches him tight to his chest. Rocking and soothing, running his firm hands over Will’s aching limbs. Praise in Will’s ears, how good he was, how beautiful he was. Will aches and aches and feels _fantastic_.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is just the name of a wine I found by googling 'expensive chardonnay' and let me tell you what a pain THAT was. The more expensive the wine, the more words they cram into the name, I swear to god. And I don't know SHIT about wine. 
> 
> This was written on a whim in 45 minutes at 8 in the morning please don't kill me.


End file.
